


Never Again

by Inkwell1013



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Basically God's an asshole and Crowley do be hurt by that, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Whump, death of a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28884669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkwell1013/pseuds/Inkwell1013
Summary: The flood were like nothing humanity had seen before. It brought such great destruction and the loss was uncountable. Crowley was there for it and remembers very clearly one person. A small boy who didn’t deserve to die.
Relationships: Crowley & OC, Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned, this fic deals with some heavier subjects, including death. If that could be triggering to you, please tread carefully. Also there’s a natural disaster (biblical flood).

The rain was torrential now. Yesterday, when it had started, it was light. In the last few minutes, the water level had gone up a good few inches. People were beginning to catch onto their own demise, and the general mood was frantic. All the doors on the street were blocked up as people tried (and failed) to escape the rising water. His heart broke for all these innocent people who were dying for the sins of the few. It wasn’t right. But there was nothing he could do.

He couldn’t save any of them.

Not too far away from him was a crying child. Crowley wondered why he was still in the streets. He was young – maybe eight or nine years old – and just as alone as Crowley felt in that moment. His brown skin was coated in damp sand, and his robes were in tatters. Two neat tracks of tears ran down his cheeks and he was thin and sickly looking.

“Where is your family?” asked Crowley, crouching next to the boy. “Shouldn’t you be with them right now?” As soon as he asked the question he knew what the answer would be.

The boy gave him a sceptical look, wide brown eyes appearing from underneath his long, dark hair. “I don’t have one...” he said at last, staring down at the waterlogged sand at his feet.

“Are you okay?” asked Crowley. It was a stupid question – how could anyone be okay in this situation? - but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I’m scared,” whispered the boy. “We’ve never had storms this bad before and everyone is so frightened. They say we’re all going to drown. I don’t want to die.”

Crowley didn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he mumbled.

The boy screwed up his face in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled.

Crowley shook his head. “I’m so sorry. There was nothing I could do.” He took the child in his arms and held him close to his chest.

They cried in each other’s arms – the boy out of fear and Crowley out of guilt. Was he so useless he couldn’t even save one life?

“I’m tired,” muttered the boy, with a shiver. “It’s so cold, and I’m so tired.”

Even if Crowley tried to help him – to take him to higher ground or find him a safe place to hide - he would only be able to prolong the inevitable. The child would succumb to the same fate as everyone else.

God was cruel like that.

But there was something he could do ease the pain a little and lessen the boy’s suffering.

“I’m going to do a special trick for you,” he said as he choked back his tears, not wanting to cry in front of the kid. “It might feel weird for a second but don’t be scared.”

Pulling upon the last shreds of his angelic power, he managed to conjure up one last miracle.

Ever since he fell, his more angelic qualities had been wasting away. If he were lucky, he would have just enough left for this.

He snapped his fingers and hoped it would work. He felt a shiver of something run down his spine and let out a small sigh of relief.

“You should be feeling warmer now,” he said. It was a weak miracle all the same, but his demonic powers wouldn’t have worked for this. They could only be used to hurt instead of help.

The child’s eyes widened. “Are you magical?” he said, barely above a whisper, like he had been let in on a huge secret. He had, in a way. The boy wouldn’t live long enough to tell anyone. No one here would.

“I am,” Crowley admitted with a fake smile. “Isn’t that cool?”

“Yes!” the kid said excitedly, but his voice was weaker just as Crowley expected. The boy was sick and clearly had been for a while, possibly even for months. He didn’t have long left.

Then he realised that he didn’t know the child’s name. “Hey kid, what’s your…" he began, trailing off halfway through.

He was being quiet. Too quiet. “Are you okay?” asked Crowley.

There was silence.

In that moment, even the rain stopped its oppressive noise.

Crowley reached for the child’s wrist, checking his pulse. There was nothing. Not even the slightest stammer of a heartbeat.

He was dead.

It all happened so quickly. Just seconds ago, he had been alive. Just moments ago, he had been okay. Not great, not even good, but okay. Now he was gone.

Crowley was left cradling the boy’s body, which was as limp and lifeless as a ragdoll. Just another toy for God to play with and then cast out once she grew tired of it. Just like Crowley and the other demons and all of humanity.

He wanted to scream, to yell up to the heavens at the God who didn’t care about them. _“Look what you’ve done! Is this what you wanted?”_

But he was too numb to speak. He held the child to his chest, tears streaming down his face.

_Damn all of it!_

He never even learned his name.

Crowley was startled awake by someone shaking his shoulder. He shot up in bed, panic seizing at his chest. Where was he? What was happening? Why was he the one who lived when so many others died? Questions swirled around his head like butterflies and he couldn’t quite force air into his lungs.

Maybe he was drowning like everyone else had. That day, he had unfurled his wings and flew away, while they had suffered their mortality. This was all just karma reall

He slowly recognised where he was. The Dowling’s household, in his cramped room complete with peeling wallpaper and dirty grey carpet. It was as mundane and strangely comforting sight to see after his nightmare.

Warlock was still shaking his shoulder. “Are you okay Nanny?” he asked. “You were crying.”

Crowley wiped the tears from his face. “I’m okay pumpkin. It was just a bad dream.”

Understatement of the year right there. But what could he say to Warlock. He didn’t even know that Crowley was a demon, let alone his past. He didn’t want to upset Warlock.

“Would a hug make you feel better?” asked Warlock “They always make me feel better.”

“I’d love that.”

“ _I’m never going to let anything bad happen to you,”_ thought Crowley as he hugged Warlock tightly. “ _I will keep you safe no matter what. I’m never going to let what happened that day happen again._

_“Never again.”_


End file.
